Hell Week by luiscypher

HELL WEEK (From the Gynophagia Chronicles) By Luis Cypher

Thursday, September 19, 2220 University of Nevada, Elko Champus

“I knew it!”

Pamela Danforth looked up, a bit annoyed, from her calculus homework to see the stunning blonde cheerleader sitting across from her in the cafeteria at the University of Nevada at Elko. It was cool inside and quite a relief from the late September heat in this northern Nevada town. It was, up till this point, quiet as well. The post-noon rush for lunch had diminished enough to allow Pamela to focus and get her math assignments due next week out of the way. Most students were now in their fourth period classes, which Pamela managed to engineer a break from all year long. Getting her math out of the way was a priority since she did not anticipate having any time tomorrow, as it was Student Body Feast Day, the grand kick-off event that signaled the beginning of the school’s favorite pastime. And, assuming she survived feast day, she would be working full time both Saturday and Sunday at one of the local Grocers. In less than an hour from now she’d be in Professor Renault’s Intro to Education, the foundation class for her chosen major. She had to repeat the class, which she thought was not that much of a problem, since transferring from NYU over the summer. The class there had been even worse than enduring Professor Renault’s boring lectures. By comparison, they were riveting.

In front of Pamela, across the long table, sat the blonde she was only just aquainted with. They had Psychology 201 together. She knew Miley Phillips to be far smarter than her bleach blonde head indicated. Like Pamela, Miley was a sophomore, just over seventeen. The blonde’s light olive skin and light brown eyebrows betrayed a Mediterranean heritage, Pamela guessed, having grown up around more than a few Greeks and Italians in her native Bridgeport, Connecticut. In front of her, Miley was gazing languidly through her dark eyes at the pages of Playpen Magazine ogling the statuesque brunette who wore only bare skin to complement impossibly green eyes and a face that was all peaches and cream.

“God she’s hot!” Miley cooed.

“Who’s hot?” Pamela asked as if she might barely be a little interested in anything for which Miley might interrupt Pamela’s calculus homework.

“Did you get it?” asked a tall, leggy and very athletic looking young black woman who strode up purposefully and plopped her very round booty in the seat next to Miley’s. The two pecked on the lips with a smooch and Miley pushed the magazine over.

“It’s Samantha Wells!” Miley said triumphantly.

“It is not!” protested the newcomer. She snatched the magazine up and flipped through the pages with a look of utter incredulity. While Miley propped up her chin with elbows on the table, looking at the tall woman and batting her long lashes, the newcomer laid the copy of Playpen on the table and began turning the pages slowly, drinking in what was on them. All of the pages she viewed sported images of that perfect creature with the glowing skin that was some perfect shade of flesh that Pamela could not decide if it was more yellow or pink… The girl was a Playpen Playmate. American Royalty. Almost every girl in the country would admit to wanting to be one, and those that did not, lied. Pamela was one of the latter, but she’d only admit that to herself.

“She looks a lot taller than five three,” said Miley’s friend.

“She does,” said Miley. “That’s what my Mom said last October.”

“Hi! By the way,” said the tall black girl, offering her hand to Pamela. “I’m Brandi Jefferson… since my little plaything here is too rude to introduce me.”

“Hey!”

“Pamela,” she said, taking the woman’s large hand across the table. “Pamela Danforth. And Miley doesn’t know me very well… I don’t even know if she knows my name… till now…”

“I do now!” said Miley grinned sheepishly.

“You’re the star WNBA hopeful, right?” Pamela asked.

“Hopeful is right,” said Brandi. “Anyway… honey, who got culled? Or dare I ask..?”

“I haven’t looked yet,” Miley admitted, further confusing Pamela, who had no idea what they were talking about. Suddenly interested, Pamela stood and leaned across the table to see as Miley flipped the pages to the last pictorial. It was a stage production with actors portraying African Cannibals of the age of invention, late nineteenth or early twentieth century. It was a popular theme in exploitation movies over the past couple of years. She also recognized the same beautiful creature Miley had been drooling over in before. Dark, almost tawny haired, impossible green eyes… that’s got to be airbrushed green! Nobody has that colour eyes, and that beautiful complexion. With her, however, was another girl, this one cherub faced with red hair and much paler skin, similar to Pamela’s own self, but instead of hair that tended toward burned auburn, like Pamela, the girl in the photographs had flaming red hair. The photography showed them both side by side impaled anally each on their own cannibal portraying actor both with looks somewhere between agony and ecstasy.

“It’s Katherine Osgood,” said Miley.

“Oh my GOD!” Brandi protested. “You cannot be serious!”

“What happened?” Pamela asked.

“The redhead is Katherine Osgood,” said Miley, pointing to her. “She got culled at this little event. They don’t show it, but she did. Samantha got Playmate of the Year… they orchestrated it so they appeared together…”

“Bet!” said Brandi, snorting. “I can’t believe this.”

“So, what happened?” Pamela asked. “They had a competition or something and the redhead lost?”

“No,” Miley said. “They always cull the third runner up. The top four vote getters, the top gets Playmate of the Year and the fourth gets culled…”

“That doesn’t seem fair!” said Pamela. “What about the bottom eight?”

“They have specific reasons why they do that,” said Miley. “My mom tried to explain them to me once, but I really didn’t pay attention. It’s fair. You owe me big, honey!”

“Sheeit!” Brandi snorted again.

“You guys make a bet?” Pamela asked.

“Brandi bet Samantha Wells would get fourth and Kate Osgood would get top honors.”

“Exactly the opposite of what happened,” Brandi harrumphed.

“Who’d you bet on?” Pamela asked Miley.

“How could you NOT vote for that!” Miley pushed the PMOY foldout in front of Pamela.

“Five foot three?” Pamela looked agape at the image. “She’s shorter than me! There’s no way, she looks like she’s five nine at least!”

“Nope, saw her in person! I went to an event in Carson City last year, and it’s like she’s been miniaturized. Anyway. I really didn’t pick her to be PMOY, my mom did… she got roasted the same month Samantha Wells was a playmate.”

“When was that?”

“Last October,” Miley said.

Pamela, still leaning over the table, flipped to the current playmate and opened the centerfold.

“Oh My God! Abby!”

Brandi pulled the magazine over, and read “Abigail Zell Gold, you know her?”

“We were at NYU together! I can’t believe it!”

“Why’d you leave NYU?” Brandi asked. “I thought it was a great school.”

“If you can survive it!” Pamela said. “More coeds get culled by percentage than at any other school in the country!”

“Really?” Miley asked.

“It’s one big party! Girls roast daily,” Pamela said. “Damn. I knew Abby went to the casting call last spring… I had no idea she got a call back! Bitch didn’t even tell me!”

“What do you think, honey?” Brandi asked Miley.

“Hmmm… I still have to say Miss January. Bailey Stamp.”

“They have Student Body Feast Days at NYU?” Brandi asked.

“Thank God, no!” Pamela said. “That seems to be a west coast thing, I think. I guess they have to make up for all the girls that don’t get tag…”

“Pam! Look out!” Miley screatched.

Confused, Pamela turned too late. From under the ridiculously short mini skirt the Velcro sides of her panties were ripped apart and came away. By the time Pamela understood what happened, a handsome young man held the gold tag in his hand from which hung her regulation university panties.

“Oh-My-God!” Pamela declared in protest. “Adam!” She screeched at the junior engineering student who was one of some twenty five 4.0 students who qualified as taggers.

Adam MacAlbert’s handsome young face was split with a triumphant, toothy grin. In his left hand he held a very fancy smart phone, in his left, he held the credit card sized gold tag that had hung just below the hem of Pamela’s too short mini skirt till he seized it.

Pamela tugged down the hem of her skirt, cheeks burning top and bottom, in a pathetically futile attempt at hiding her nethers.

“You asshole!”

“That’s what you get for displaying that fabulous rear end of yours so prominently!” Adam grinned, eyes smiling under a shock of blonde hair.

“That’s the third time in as many weeks!” Pamela protested. “What is with you? Am I being targeted?”

“Same deal, Pam,” Adam said. “Go out with me… how about all day tomorrow, feast day, then a movie later, and I give you your panties back!”

“It was cute the first time, Adam!” Pamela snorted. “Now it’s old!”

“Last chance!”

“I’ll take my chances,” Pamela said defiantly.

“Okay,” Adam said as he began punching numbers on his phone, his personal code and the one on Pamela’s tag.

Pamela began to shake with both fear and hatred. Could this be it? She looked to Miley who was biting her lip. Pamela had no real friends here yet, only acquaintances and a roommate who was constantly in heat with her Battery Operated Boyfriend most of the time, with little left over for conversation, idle or otherwise. She was pulling her skirt down so hard her blouse had come untucked.

“I can’t believe this!” Pamela lamented.

“You did sign a contract,” Brandi said matter of factly.

“Easy for you to say,” Pamela said. “You’re exempt.”

“Only during Basketball season,” Brandi said. “I’m just as eligible now as you are.”

Adam’s phone beeped. “Shit!” he said.

“I’m okay,” Pamela breathed.

“No,” Adam said. “I punched in the code wrong.” He started over as Pamela hissed at him. Ignoring her, Adam took the seat she’d vacated.

“Ooo, Nice!” he said, glancing at the open magazine. “I heard Samantha Wells got the crown. Love to get her on the new spit we built!”

“Sammie got it?” called a newcomer. Pamela did recognize the boy, but only as the brother of Lucy, her co-worker at Valencha’s Grocers. Lucy followed closely behind him, her fair skin, blue eyes and freckled face equally as pretty as her brother’s. They both stood the same height as Pamela, at 5’4” and if they were not male and female, they could have been identical twins.

“Hiya, Sean, Hey Lucy,” Miley said.

“Hi guys!” Sean said.

“You working tonight, Pam?” Lucy asked.

“I’m closing.”

“Good. We’re closing together then… At least I won’t have to call Sean to walk me home again. So what’s this about Sammie?”

“Who got tagged?” Sean asked Adam..

“I did!” Pamela said, annoyed.

“Not yet, actually,” Adam said, concentrating. “Still finding out.”

“Pam, is it? You’ll look great on a spit, girl!” Sean said.

“Thanks a lot!”

“Good luck, Girl!” Lucy said. “Can I see that?” She took the magazine from Brandi. “Never was ever a doubt! We’ll have to call her, Sean!”

“You know Samantha Wells?” asked Miley hopefully.

“She’s our cousin,” Sean said. She grew up just over the hill from our house.”

“Where was that?” Miley asked.

“We’re from San Leandro, near San Francisco. She was from San Ramon. It’s about… oh… seventeen miles or so, as the crow flies… longer on the freeway… about maybe half an hour on BART.”

“What’s BART?”

“Local rail transit for the Bay Area,” Brandi said.

“You from the Bay Area?” Sean asked of Brandi.

“Sacramento,” Brandi said.

“So what’s she like?” Miley intejected pointing at the Playmate of the Year pictures.

“Sam?” Lucy asked. “Sweet. Driven, but sweet.”

“You don’t get to be a crackerjack reporter unless you’re driven,” Sean added.

“She’s a Journalist!” Miley said. “That’s right!”

“She’s a reporter,” Sean corrected. “Don’t call her a journalist to her face! She hates that!”

“What’s the difference?”

“Reporters report facts. Journalists add opinion.”

“Even so,” Miley said. “She looks yummy!”

“That’s what everyone said last month when they filmed her rape,” Lucy said.

“You were there?” Pamela asked.

“The whole family was,” Sean said. “It was at this place called Tropicana Blue… Kate Osgood was there with her family… they really frightened both of them but good…”

“Roasted Kate Osgood…” Brandi Lamented.

“They show that?”

“No, they just have some photos of the rape,” Brandi said.

“It was about as horrific and sexy as it sounds, though,” said Lucy. “Then they gutted poor Kate right on stage with a huge cock up her ass…”

“Wow!” Brandi said. “Her whole family watched that?”

“Then they had to sign a non-disclosure agreement after. We all did,” Lucy said.

“We all knew something was up,” Sean said. “But it was pretty amazing. All the girls there cried and touched themselves. I think Lucy came in her panties at least twice.”

“I did not!” Lucy protested. “I only came once…”

“Was Samantha’s father there too?” Miley asked. “She talks about him a lot in the original Playmate Profile…” she said when Brandi gave her a look.

“Uncle Matt carried Sammie out after it was done,” Sean said. “I think the hardest part for Sammie was that she and Kate were getting so close. They were inseparable for months.”

“You never mentioned any of this last year!” Miley protested. “How do we know you’re not pulling our legs?”

The four, Miley, Brandi, Sean and Lucy started arguing increasing Pamela’s frustration until finally Adam’s phone beeped.

“Oh, wow!” Adam said, causing Pamela’s heart to leap into her throat and hammer in her ears. “Guess the third time isn’t the charm,” he said, looking at Pamela. “Missed you by one day! Damn! You got lucky, girl!”

Pamela collapsed into the nearest chair, unconcerned that her crotch was fully exposed and put her face in her arms and just breathed.

“Better luck next time, Adam!” Sean said with a grin Pamela could hear even though she couldn’t see it.

“You too!” Adam said. “Sure you won’t go out with me, Pam?”

Pamela looked up, and at Adam. “Get lost!”

Adam smirked at trotted off.

“ ‘Good luck to you too’?” Miley faced Sean. “You’re not a tagger now, are you?”

“As of last week!” Sean said proudly. “Perfect grades!”

“Oh, God,” Brandi complained. “Not another one!”

“Don’t worry, Brandi,” said Lucy. “I think I’m Sean’s target more than anyone.”

“But you’re his sister!”

“So?” Sean said. “She’d look great on a spit! And I’d get to cook her! But seriously, I only joke about it, Luce. We only get to pull two tags a week each, and one cull a day total. I have my sights on girls that are a little more challenging… And so far, we’re oh for a thousand in three weeks… pretty pathetic record, if you ask me.”

“I’m just glad I get to wear a red tag the rest of the week,” Pamela said. “Thank God he missed my day!”

“I distinctly remember,” Brandi said. “Seeing two girls culled in one day at least twice last year.”

“Special circumstances,” Sean said. “If a girl is tagged on a demerit, that doesn’t count against our total culls.”

“Well,” Pamela said. “This is all very interesting, but I have to get to class. Buy guys. It was nice meeting you Brandi. You too, Sean.”

“Now she could be in Playpen,” Sean watched Pamela leave. “I can see why Adam’s so taken with her.”

“Think so?” Lucy asked. “You in love, now?”

“Well, she is hot!”

“Yummy, too!” Brandi said.

“Hey! Eyes front!” Miley protested. “I’m right here!”

“Can’t I at least look?” Protested Brandi.

“Look! No touch! You’re mine!” Miley said as she grabbed a hand full of Brandi’s ample rear end and squeezed. Brandi jumped and squealed with mock outrage. Miley giggled at her lover, then turned to Sean. “So, how well do you know Adam, anyway?”

“Well enough to know he’ll get Pam eventually. Either in bed, or on the spit or both.”

“Doesn’t he have a history of that?” Brandi asked.

“He tagged some girl he was dating named Hanna last March. But what pissed me off was when he got Naomi Cokely. That frosted me! She was the sweetest thing! Fucking Adam!”

“Like I said to Pam, she did sign a contract,” Brandi reminded.

“But Naomi went out the day before both our mothers got spitroasted! It was stupid and cruel! She was on the phone with her Mom when he tagged her saying goodbye!”

“Wait! Was that the girl that had phone sex with her mother when we gutted her?” Lucy asked.

“Last October,” said Miley.

“I’ll never forget that as long as I live!” said Lucy. “My God that was hot! I gutted her, Sean manned the spit… she was gushing the whole time doing a play by play as if she was calling a sporting event!”

“Keeping everything family oriented,” Miley observed.

“Wow!” Brandi said. “I’m sorry I missed that!”

“You would have liked her. She was Linda’s sister.”

“Oh, yeah! I liked Linda. She got tagged just after her sister got married, right?”

“That’s right. Did you ever meet Mary?”

“No.”

“I did,” Sean said. “We had Sociology together. She’s the one who’s little sisters married each other, right?”

“What?” Brandi asked. “In what state is that legal?”

“It’s a Christian Nudist thing,” said Miley. “Very convoluted. They mount women on totems and stuff… you know…”

“Oh! Yeah, mountings!”

“You know about the Christian Nudists?” asked Sean.

“Yes I do!” Brandi snorted. “Those holier than though holy rollers with their made up phony African ritual that came out of some honky’s sick fantasy mounting girls in some God awful ceremony designed by the white man to keep the bruthas and sistas down! That Christian Nudist thang? You bet I know about it!”

“My aunt Jessica was mounted,” Sean said.

“Sengan Communion, they called it,” Lucy said.

“Sengan, my ass!” said Brandi. “It was those pasty faced English ass wipes came up with it so they can keep their factory ships movin’ from the Congo to South Hampton fast as they go, ten thousands girls in, five hundred thousand pounds of meat out! That’s all we good for! Meat!”

“Sorry, Guys!” Miley apologized. “I shouldn’t have brought it up. She gets like this…”

“Damn whitey think we don’t know what’s goin’ on! You bet we know…”

Lucy and Sean could only watch them go with their jaws slack.

Pamela Danforth’s bare bottom stuck, as it always did class after her panties had been confiscated, to the wooden seat in the auditorium. She sat in the front row with the other “High Achievers” just below the stage where Professor Renault was droning on about class discipline. She squirmed at the annoying reminder that tomorrow was Student Body Feast Day, which was the quarter’s big event, since there was little to no sports scheduled till December.

Professor Renault’s lecture on class discipline was falling on deaf ears today. In spite of her self-absorbed squirming, Pamela had noticed hers was not the only antsy rump in the room.

“Are you getting targeted too?” whispered Farrah Madrid as she leaned over to Pamela. She was a freshman, as this class was mostly comprised. The few sophomores, like Pamela who were present were, like her, mostly transfer students and a few who had registered too late to get a slot in the mandatory class for a degree in education.

“…most of the time,” the 38ish woman at the podium was droning. She was dressed very professionally in a gray pants suit, orange blouse and with a red scarf. The colors varied, with Professor Renault, but the style did not, at least not much. She’d vary between a knee length skirt and slacks over her fleshy hips. Pamela had noticed the woman had very fleshy hips and that her bottom jiggled when she walked, though she was not, apparently over weight. “You can maintain discipline simply by separating the disruptors…”

“Yeah,” Pamela whispered back, trying to concentrate on the lecture..

“Gawd, I can’t imagine,” replied Farrah. “But it’s not your day, right?”

“No,” replied Pamela in her horse whisper, getting annoyed. “Fortunately.”

“Mine, neither… My brother’s a tagger, but that isn’t helping me any… I’m so scared about tomorrow and how I might be… you know…”

“…sometimes the problem can escalate. The threat of humiliation is a well known to be effective as the threat of corporeal punishment both on Girls and Boys…”

“Me too,” said Pamela, said curtly.

“…in fact, humiliation and corporal punishment often go hand in hand…”

“It’s my first time,” said Farrah. “I can’t believe I have to go naked!”

“All freshmen girls do,” said Pamela said, remembering thankful they did not have feast days at NYU. Please let me listen, she thought… you’re distracting me.

“… there are, of course exceptions to these rules. Can anyone think of one that might be?”

“The anticipation is killing me…”

“Farrah Madrid. How about you?” asked Professor Renault.

“Huh?” Farrah’s eyes were wide.

“Or, Pamela Danforth; any thoughts?”

“I’m sorry, Professor. What was the question?”

Professor Renault sighed. “So here, ladies, we have a teachable moment. This whole class is distracted, making learning impossible. Miss Madrid and Miss Danforth, will both of you step up, please?” Her hand indicated the space on stage next to the podium.

Pamela reluctantly stood and moved up, with Farrah following her up and flanking her once they stood next to the podium. Professor Stella Renault moved to the side of the podium and leaned on it, shaking her short haired head and clucking her tongue.

“So, let me guess,” said the professor. “The topic is… uh, Student Body Feast Day?” She looked the two over. “Is that right, Farrah?”

Farrah nodded nervously. Farrah had a right to be nervous. Disrupting a lecture earned demerits, and demerits put one on extra days of vulnerability to the taggers. Pamela looked out over the two hundred odd students in the lecture hall. No boys, thank god, only girls. All wanted to get their education degree which would allow them to get a teaching job. Pamela could not see one face that was not worried and frozen in silence.

“This always happens, mind you,” said the professor. “Add to that,” she reached down with her pointer and lifted the hem of Pamela’s skirt, lifting it exposing the fuzzy dark red hair between Pamela’s legs. “It looks like poor Pamela got tagged today. I guess we know she’s a natural redhead…” There was nervous laughter. “East Coast Girl, huh? So am I. Waxing is more hygienic, I’ll have you know.”

Pamela wanted to cry. She wanted to run.

“How many of you have fantasies about being spitroasted? Show of hands,” She raised her own. About a quarter of the room did. Neither Pamela, nor Farrah did.

“Interesting. Statistics show that it is the most common fantasy women enjoy, and from a very young age. So I can only assume that most of you aren’t admitting the truth.” She nodded toward Pamela and Farrah. “First year Farrah and second year Pamela are two of the top students in this class, amazingly enough. They both consistently scored in the top ten over the past two weeks, and I had very high hopes that they were going to be good examples to the rest of you. Yet here they are, ignoring an important lecture and disrupting the class. Now, for those of you who have been paying attention, you’ll know that no matter the student, good or bad, you have to be judicious when it comes to maintaining class discipline. So let’s have some suggestions… uhm… What do you prescribe, Melanie?” She looked around the room. “Sorry, Melanie Davis.”

“Uhm,” replied Melanie Davis. “A demerit?”

“Okay. That would mean next week we might see one or both on a stick. Rebecca Boaz?”

“Ma’am,” said the Miss Boaz. “If that’s true, the whole class should get demerits. We’re all guilty.”

Pamela did not know the girl two rows back with the pink eyelids and dull brown hair, but she suddenly liked her.

“This is true, and I can do that if I must. But a lot of you would get tagged next week, so it’s not a good idea…. Remember, these are my top students! Yes, the whole class is guilty. But notice I now have your attention.” She looked around the room. Sandra Kincaid,” she referred to the pretty bleach blonde next to the black Melanie Davis. “How about you? What would you do here?”

“Uh… I think… maybe a spanking? I mean an example has to be set, right?” Sandra Kincaid looked to Pamela like some holier than though surfer girl. Sandy, everyone called her. Pamela found herself hating that one.

“Corporeal Punishment for College Students! That’s a great idea, Miss Kincaid. Maybe you were, in fact, paying attention. Good possibility, that. Toni Smith? What about you?”

“Well,” Toni said. “The faculty meeting is in a week from Saturday. Have them appear there.”

“A one in ten chance! Good idea… hmmm… let’s see…” the professor looked around the auditorium. “Priscilla Lecler; thoughts?”

“Well…” the voluptuous blonde was thoughtful. “I heard that once a girl was punished by going a week in nothing but her underwear….” Pries sat next to Rebecca Boaz.

Pamela gulped. This was not a list of suggestions! This was a list of cumulative punishments she and Farrah would face! Next to her, Farrah was tearing up… she’d also figured it out.

“I had forgotten about that!” said the professor. “I like that. Tania Crumb, what say you?”

“Disrupting class is a big deal, ma’am. But… I don’t know,” said the girl, who sat next to Toni Smith.

“Petra Balashova, any thoughts?”

The lithe Russian shrugged. “I hope…. I think demerit?”

“Bailey Lambert?”

Bailey was Pamela’s roommate, a sophomore like herself who Pamela could barely imagine had any serious thoughts of being a teacher. She had black, black hair and Eurasian features with lightly freckles and blue eyes. The very exotic looking Petra looked almost mundane next to Bailey.

“I’m not adverse to nudity, ma’am,” said Bailey. “So I don’t think of it as much of a punishment. Demerit, I think. As Tania said…. It’s a serious offense, but then, we’re all guilty.”

“Petra,” said the professor. “Do you agree?” Petra nodded… the professor polled the girls she’d spoken with, they all tended to agree.

“Very well, the facts are these: we’re all meat! Even me! If I screw up badly enough, I lose my tenure on a spit. None of us will avoi8d it. Feast day is one of the ways you barter for this education. Twenty years ago I went through it on this very campus. That was back in the day when taggers were out of control hooligans! But I survived and now here I am after fifteen years as a high school teacher, I’m helping shape the next generation of teachers, something I hope to do for at least another seven years. The point is this: Student Body Feast Day is a fact of life! Deal with it! If’ you’re not here to learn, don’t bother coming, and above all, do not disrupt my class!”

Farrah was weeping now…

“Melanie Davis, Sandy Kincaid, Priscilla Lecler, Rebecca Boaz, Toni Smith, Tania Crumb, Petra Balashova, Bailey Lambert, Pamela Danforth and Farrah Madrid. All of you will be at the faculty meeting a week from tomorrow where one of you will be dinner, those of you that are still with us, that is. All of you will show up wearing only your , panties and tags for one week. All of you get a demerit to be cashed between next Monday and Friday. And, we might even find time to give each of you a spanking. Think on this before you disrupt my class again! Dismissed!”

NEXT POST

What I should do, SK, is take your advice about asstr and write a couple of essays regarding what society is like, for instance, that there are no “farms” but many single moms who are concubines to upper middle class men and those wealthier, and no “factories” but a whole lot of Safeway and Lucky’s that have a butcher in residence, that K-12 runs from 4-16, and college usually from 16-20… etc…

And, oh yeah, this is a world that looks a whole lot like ours now, except that it’s about 200 years in the future…

T’sade, thanks, one for the complement, and two for this forum…

NEXT POST

Hell Week startred off, like many of my stories do, as an experiment. I was trying to do a variation on PK’s Muffin Hunters and/or Feast Day and ended up having the idea to do both at once in a single effort. There’s more written, but unfortunately, Adam (who was Rob in the previous version) has changed character a great deal from my original vision of it, so what’s not transcribed needs considerable revision. If I get anywhere near PK’s quality, I’ll be very happy with the end product.

NEXT POST

At this time, I’m working on Part 2 of Samantha. This one is about a year old and I just transcribed what I have recently. There is a bit more to it that I have yet to add, but it requires a bit of a re-write. I’ll get to it as soon as I can.

NEXT POST

I laughed out loud when I read your post, Lens. You nailed it perfectly. This story is my attempt to combine both into one story… Thanks!

NEXT POST

3:34 pm, Thursday, September 19, 2220 Engineering Lab 6, Jesse Jackson Rainbow Push Building, University of Nevada, Elko Campus

Adam MacAlbert watched the dremel tool intently through his goggles as he buffed the rough edges off the newly vented spit. It had been part of his group’s project for the last week, based on Mark Foster’s design. This one was one of four the group had manufactured by hand, and were desperately trying to finish in time for the next day’s event. Hopefully, assuming the thing worked tomorrow, there might be an interest in it by one of the many culinary equipment manufacturers out there. That would defray the exhorbidant cost of sending a young man to the University, and Elko U was one of the least expensive in the country.

Foster, the geeky, blonde wingnut eared young man, who looked far younger than his twenty one years, was putting the final touches on the new design’s most unique feature, the VSOI, or Vaginal Spit, Orgasm Inducer. That was the best innovation the group could come up with. Ever since Tucker Klein had introduced their revolutionary Eric Wells designed Comfort Roasting Cradle, culinary equipment companies that speciallized in spitting equipment had been scrambling to match its features. The idea that a woman could be roasted comfortably restained on the CRC was so appealing, there was real fear that spit roasting would go out of favour, or, possibly, become obsolete. Engineering Students across the country competed for various prizes and rewards for a spit design that would bring spitroasting back into favour. The VSOI was going to be the entry submitted by Adam and his group to whichever company showed interest.

Today was a lab day for the premier engineering students on campus. Out of the twenty five top grade getters, seventeen of them were in the Engineering Class, and had, of course, been awarded Tagger status. Hunting spit muffins was the main passtime for these young men when their studies and projects did not take precedence.

“Okay,” Adam said, running his fingers over his work and finding no offending burs. “I think that’s done.”

“Can you help me slide this on?” asked Mark Foster. “It’s going to be tough.”

“Shouldn’t we lube the spit?”

“I don’t think so,” said Foster. The electric connnectors need to be clean, and the adhesive won’t set if we coat it with anything at all, so I’d rather just slide it on.”

“Alright,” conceeded Adam.

Mark fit what was a six inch rubber sleave over the but of the spit. That was difficult enough. The spit was the standard 1.5” diameter and the sleve was designed to fit over the 1” tapered portion further down. The two young men strugged together managing to drive the sleave up only a foot before another young man, Pete Madrid, arrived to help. When it finally was in place it was after four in the afternoon.

When the three young men had the sleve in place, they huffed and puffed to catch their collective breaths as the fourth, and final member of their group arrived along with dean of the Engineering School.

Phil Jeffries was tall, sandy blonde haired and handsome with the physique of an athlete. As yet, no girl had ever said ‘No’ to him, or had lived to tell of it, to Adam’s knowledge. Phil also had the best record of any tagger. He had tagged sixteen girls in his junior year and was the only junior tagger last year to Adam’s ten. Phil and Adam had been the only junior class taggers in five years. This year there were none.

“Late, as usual,” Adam said without looking or giving any other greeting to Phil.

“What’s with the ‘tude, man?” asked Phil.

“Pamela escaped him again,” said Mark.

“Awe, you got it bad,” Phil mocked.

“I’d be upset too,” said Professor Samuelson, Dean of Engineering. “Pamela Danforth, right? She’s been the talk of the faculty since she arrived. We’re hoping to invite her to our faculty meeting next week. But her grades seem to be too good.”

“Oh?” Said Phil. “Is that so?” He pulled a paper out of his pocket.

“You know about her? You old dog, you!” asked Pete Madrid. “She’s hot! My sister sits next to her in one of her classes. They’ve got pretty friendly.”

“Well, she and Bailey Lambert,” said the professor. “Bailey is a particular favourite of mine.”

“Then you’re in luck, Professor,” said Phil Jeffries.

“How so?”

“Professor Renault just gave a tonne of demerits to ten of her students,” Phil said. “Guess who’s on the list!”

The three students and the professor wen’t slack jawed.

“Why don’t you just tell us?” asked Adam.

“Okay,” Phil said. “I’ve got it right here!” He read from a hand scrawled note. “Melanie Davis, Sandy Kincaid, Priscilla Lecler, Rebecca Boaz, Toni Smith, Tania Crumb, Petra Balashova, Bailey Lambert, Pamela Danforth and Farrah Madrid.”

“Bailey Lambert!” said the professor, incredulous.

“Farrah?” asked Pete, looking stricken. “She demerrited my sister?”

“Sorry, Dude,” Phil said. “She’s on the list Renee gave me.”

“So all ten will be at the faculty meeting next week?” asked Professor Samuelson.

“Uh,” Phil said. “Assuming they survive the week. They all get to run around in panties and sneakers and each gets two days on the tagging list next week, then all the ones that survive have to show up at the faculty meeting!”

“Holy shit!” Pete said. “Farrah’s cooked for sure! I told Mom I’d protect her!”

“Pamela’s on the list?” asked Adam, who, instead of having a joyful expression, had one of sadness.

“I thought you wanted to get her,” Phil said.

“I do,” said Adam.

“Oh, I get it. You want to get her, but you want to fuck her first!” said Phil.

“Can’t say I blame him,” said Professor Samuelson.

“Wow!” said Pete. “All ten might end up spitted by Friday.”

“No,” said Mark. “Four at least if we play it right. Eight is possible, but ten is highly unlikely.”

“How so?” Pete asked, hope gleaming in his eyes.

“There are twenty five of us, each gets to take one tag a week. There are ten of them. Ten times five is fifty. We will very likely get five of them, maybe six. More than that and we would be very, very lucky.”

“Wait, so we’d need fifty taggers to hit them all?”

“Let’s do the math,” said Mark…

5:25PM, Thursday, September 19, 2220 Dorm room 208, Michelle Obama Hall, University of Nevada, Elko Campus

“…on monday there are ten of us,” Pamela explained to Farrah, Bailey and Petra in her dorm room. “If they take ten tags that day, two of us will get spitted. The next day, there are eight of us. They take eight tags that day, two more get spitted. The very next day, there are six of us. They can still take six tags, so two more will get spittedroasted. That leaves only two more taggers for four girls. There’s a fifty fifty chance of getting us. So very likely six of us will go, possibly seven in the very worst case scenario”

“That’s very bad odds,” said Petra.

“But wait! You have to remember, that the two who are taggable on Monday, at least one will be taggable Tuesday or Wednesday! We each are on two days out of the five. They can’t take more than two of us a day even though four of us are available. I say we will see five of us spitroasted, and the rest will get to see the faculty meeting and take our chances there.”

“That’s still pretty bad odds,” said Petra.

“Maybe I’ll just volunteer tomorrow,” said Bailey, who’s cheeks were flushed with fear and obvious arousal.

Farrah was weeping openly.

“I don’t want to die,” she whispered.

“Bailey,” Pamela said. “If you volunteer, that increases the odds of the rest of us getting spitroasted…”

“So, you want me not to volunteer?” Bailey said. “What if I get selected in the lottery?”

“We can’t help that,” said Pamela. “But please don’t volunteer. We have to come up with a way to fool the taggers and increase our chances!”

“But, how do we do that if we don’t know who’s taggable till she gets tagged?” asked Petra.

“Oh,” said Bailey. “I can fix tha-a-at

“How?”

“Oh, I know a certain dean of engineering who will do just about anything to get chance to feel me up,” said Bailey.

“You let an old man feel you up?” asked Farrah.

“Sure,” Bailey said. “Why not? He might decide to marry me and I could live a few more years…”

Petra, who knew Bailey well, and Pamela, who knew Bailey well enough, both smirked at her.

“Oh, who am I kidding! I’m a born spitmuffin! But Dean Samuelson does have nice hands…”

“So?” Petra looked to Pamela. “How do we do this?”

“Well,” said Pamela. “Even if we know who’s taggable, it’s going to be difficult protecting everyone. If we can all get through the first day, we stand all stand a much better chance! If we get through the second day, that brings the numbef of tags they cann produce to a maximum of six if they’re very, very lucky! It’ll mean travelling in pairs all the time. Get caught alone on a day you’re taggable, and you’ve pretty much surrendered. Every girl who’s taggable on her day should definitely be with one who is not…”

Pamela was interrupted by a knock on the door.

“Who is it?”

“It’s Lucy,” came the answer, and the dark haired sophmore let herself in. “Hey guys! I just heard! I’m so sorry! Except for you, Bailey! I know you live for this!”

“He he he…” Bailey giggled nervously.

“Hey, Pam, you’re working tonight, right?”

“Oh, damn!” Pamela cried. “I completely forgot! I’ll be ready in one second!”

In moments, Pamela had on her uniform and made her way with Lucy to Valencha’s Grocers, and punched in without a moment to spare at six. Lucy reported to Mr. Anson at the butcher’s department, who put the girl immediately to work on processing an already skinned carcas while Pamela joined Carter Valencha in Produce. Pamela supposed Lucy had the more interesting job. It was certainly a higher paid job, as Lucy seemed liked and trusted by her boss. Carter Valencha, on the other hand, seemed to hover around Pamela as if he did not trust her at all to perform the very basic tasks of stacking vegetables.

“…so,” Pamela was explaining. “I might get culled next week,” she explained to Carter, almost weepy. His young face betrayed no sympathy at all. He had not gone to college, himself, and expected to eventually be a manager here at the grocers his great grandfather had founded and his grandfather still ran. The staff, like Pamela, were almost exclusively college students from Elko U, with one or two local girls. None of which were paid very much, some four Euros an hour, which was just above minimum wage in Nevada.

“Well,” said Carter. “Maybe you’ll get lucky and hit the lottery tomorrow. Then you won’t have to parade around naked for a week.”

Pamela dropped the subject, and accepted the fact that Carter would show her no sympathy at all. They worked in silence till seven, when it was time for Carter to go home. He lingered, as he always did, for fifteen minutes giving Pamela detailed instructions on how to wash the tomatoes and how to properly place the five pound bags of potatos.

Finally, Pamela was alone. The crowd of shoppers died down after seven and work was mostly about setting up for the next day, with the occassional late comer. She knew them all. Dowdy Mrs. Kinkaid. Nervous Mrs. Pathe. Pleasant Mrs. Joyce all showed this evening and required Pamela’s help selecting the best of what she was putting out.

All of them stayed to watch who was scheduled for the eight o’clock cull. It was not anyone Pamela recognized. It turned out to be a fifteen year old girl who arrived wearing nothing but flip flops and a long t-shirt. Both Lucy and Mr. Anson seemed to pride themselves on making their subject’s last experience a pleasant one. Lucy often spoke of this on their way to and from work when she and Pamela walked together.

Pamela worked as fast as she could so that she could enjoy at least a few moments watching the nine o’clock cull. But Mrs. Pepperdine, the fortyish widow of a local mining executive, was there with her two of her five surviving children. Pamela had been there and listened to Mrs. Pepperdine two months before when her eighty five year old husband died after a long, drawn out convelescence. Mrs. Pepperdine did love her husband, but the relief was visible on her lovely face. Twenty two years of marriage and eleven children had aged the woman, but it had not made her ugly, in Pamela’s mind.

“I hope I look as good as you if I ever have eleven kids,” Pamela once told Mrs. Pepperdine, and she meant it.

“You look beautiful tonight, Mrs. Pepperdine,” Pamela said, and meant it. The woman’s brown hair was piled on top of her head as it usually was with danging earrings. She wore a colourful floral print silk blouse over grey-brown slacks that showed off her nicely rounded bottom and gray pumps. A silver cross hung at her cleavage on a thin chain.

“Flattery, young lady… flattery,” Mrs. Pepperdine protested with a smile over her demure blush. “Malcome,” she said to her son. “You would do well to have so lovely a girl as a wife, I think.”

“Awe, mom!” said the thirteen year old boy at her side. Malcome was gangly and rough around the edges, and certainly not the type to be into girls even at the early onslought of puberty. Poor kid will develop slowly, thought Pamela.

“Now,” Mrs. Pepperdine said. “Tammy, always buy tomatoes slightly green this time of year. If you have any doubts, ask Pamela. She’ll be happy to help you.” She told the high school senior with the same finely chisled features as her mother. A pointed nose and mirth filled gray eyes completed the look on both mother and daughter, with Mrs. Pepperdine’s face slightly more oval and Tammy’s being heart shaped.

“”Why, thank you, Mrs. Pepperdine,” said Pamela.

“Now, take these to the register, please, and go staight home.”

“Mom!” Tammy said. “You…”

“Do as I say, Tamara. Do it now. Do not embarras me by making a fus!”

“Alright,” Tamara seemed resigned. “Goodnight, Mom.”

“Goodnight, sweetheart.”

The two children kissed their mother and left her with Pamela feeling perplexed.

“Pamela,” Mrs. Pepperdine said. “Where is Mr. Anson? I didn’t see him when I came in.”

“I think he went home,” said Pamela.

“Oh… I hoped…. oh…”

“Is something wrong, Mrs. Pepperdine?”

“No,” said Mrs. Pepperdine who was visibly shaken to the point that her voice cracked and her hands trembled. “Nothing is wrong. I simply hoped to see him tonight.”

“I’m sorry you missed him,” said Pamela. “Is there anything I can help you with?”

“Oh, well…” said Mrs. Pepperdine. “I should like to know where to go to… uhm… undress…”

“Undress?” Pamela asked. “Oh! Are you…” it was a stupid question, and Mrs. Pepperdine’s eyes said it all. The poor woman was obviously terrified. “Uhm… the culls usually undress right outside the butcher’s bay.”

“Oh!” said Mrs. Pepperdine. “In front of it… of course! Of course, I knew this. I’ve watched enough of Mr. Anson’s work to know this. How silly of me.” She was trembling even more than before now and suddenly her legs gave way. It was by pure luck that Pamela was able to catch her under her amrs before the woman collapsed to the floor. Fortunately, Mrs. Pepperdine was not all that heavy. She was slightly shorter than Pamela’s 5’4” height and probably her same 110lbs weight.

“Let me get you a chair,” Pamela said as she steadied the older woman, and rushed to the butcher’s bay where she found Lucy anxiously looking at her watch.

“What’s wrong?” asked Lucy.

“I need a chair, you have folding ones back here, right?”

“Yeah, sure, in the closet.”

“Can you bring Mrs. Pepperdine a glass of water?”

“I can’t,” Lucy said. “My nine o’clock will be here any minute.”

“She is your nine o’clock.”

“Oh! Oh, okay…”

Back out on the main floor Pamela unfolded the metal chair and placed it behind Mrs. Pepperdine, who she had to help into it.

“Oh, goodness this is embarrasing,” said the woman, even as Lucy appeared with a paper cup of water. “Thank you, Miss…”

“I’m Lucy,” said Lucy. “Are you my nine o’clock appointment?”

“Yes,” Mrs. Pepperdine said then gulped the water. “Yes. Harry, did he really go home?”

“I’m afraid so,” said Lucy. “He had to get home to take his wife out to dinner. It’s their anniversary.”

“Oh… of course… I knew this… he told me about it…” Mrs. Pepperdine said. “Who will… who is going to render me?”

“I am,” said Lucy.

“But… you’re a girl…” “Last time I checked,” said Lucy with a bit of frustration in her voice. “That’s not a problem, is it?” The question was not so much a question as an observation, Pamela could hear.

“Uh… no,” Mrs. Pepperdine protested. “Of course it’s not a problem… I’m afraid I drank a bit too much of that comfort drink earlier. It appears to be making me feel a little weak and slow.”

Lucy nodded. “Do you have you’re culling order, Mrs. Pepperdine? I need it to begin working on you.”

Mrs. Pepperdine regarded Lucy with soulful eyes, but finally reached into her purse and produced a neatly folded paper which she offered to Lucy with her trembling hand. Lucy took the sheet and unfolded it with a forced smile.

“Okay,” Lucy said. “Pam, if you’re not too busy,” Lucy motioned for Pamela to follow. When they were out of Mrs. Pepperdine’s earshot, Lucy whispered. “Can you help me with this one? She’s obviously going to be a pain if I have to do her by myself. If you’re not too busy, I hope.”

“Uh…” Pamela would have liked to decline, but she was well aware Lucy knew she always worked hard to have time to watch processing. Refusing would be a lie that Lucy would see through instantly. “Yeah, sure.”

“Go help her get undressed, would you? I’ll get the wash rack ready.”

Sure, Lucy, Pamela thought. Whatever you say. Damn… Pamela turned back to the poor woman sitting in the chair across the isle.

How do I do this? Do I go up to her and say: Can we get you naked now, Mrs. Pepperdine? It’s time to take off your cloths in front of me and everyone… not that there’s anyone here… except the girls up front and one or two beer junkies… God… she looks so scared…

“Uh… Mrs. Pepperdine?” Pamela finally said when she arrived near the woman’s chair. “Mrs. Pepperdine?”

“I can’t do this!” the woman said, looking wide eyed into Pamela’s eyes. “I just can’t.” In her left hand, she held the crumpled remains of the paper cup Lucy had brought her.

The queezy sensation in Pamela’s stomach she felt the first time a boy coaxed her out of her cloths a few years ago. If expressions were any indicatgion, Mrs. Pepperdine felt exactly the same.

“It’s alright, Mrs. Pepperdine,” Pamela managed. “Lucy is good at her job. She’ll be very gentle with you. I promis. Uhm… we need to get you undressed now. Alright?”

The woman looked down at her hands, and nodded after a few moments. Pamela knelt down and began working the buttons of Mrs. Pepperdine’s silk blouse to the point where it was tucked into the waistband of her slacks and she could go no further. Fortunately, the zipper was on the side, not the back, and Pamela did not yet have to ask the woman to stand. She unfastened the clasp and unzipped the zipper, releasing the blouse tails and undid the lowest button.

Pamela had to move behind Mrs. Pepperdine in order to draw off the woman’s blouse. Mrs. Pepperdinewas being about as helpful as a frightened child, but she at least she did not fight. The lacy braw the woman wore clasped in back and that helped save a little time, Pamela mused. She drew the brazier off, and Mrs. Pepperdine crossed her arms in front of her, with her hands on each opposite shoulder to hide her bare breasts.

“Oh darn,” came a male voice. It was John Valencha, Carter’s father, and currently the day manager of Valencha’s. “Lucy running late?”

“It’s okay, Sir,” Pamela said. “It’s under control.”

“I already sent Janet and Paula home,” John said of the two checkers. “You going to stay and help Lucy?”

“Sure,” Pamela nodded.

“Alright,” John said. “I’ll go ahead and lock up. Lucy has the keys, so make sure she locks up when you’re done.”

“Okay,” Pamela said.

“What’s the hold up?” Lucy called.

“Coming!” Pamela said, and quickly knelt down to pull the gray pumps off Mrs. Pepperdine’s feet. “Mrs. Pepperdine, I need you to stand up now, okay?”

“Of course,” Mrs. Pepperdine croaked. The woman’s legs were quaking as Pamela drew down those gray-brown slacks. Her control top panti hose and jewelery were all the woman wore now, and Pamela was well aware of Lucy’s impatience as she struggled pulling the tight nylon hose down.

A shopper came around the corner. It was Mrs. Asporan who Mrs. Pepperdine sometimes chatted with when she came in. But this was thursday, and Mrs. Asporan rarely came in on Tursday.

“Helen?” called Mrs. Asporan. “Is that you?”

(to be continued)

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Thanks, SK. Need to get Mrs. Pepperdine rendered, but I can’t get my head in the right place to get it done!

I’ll do it shortly…

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“Coming!? Pamela said, and quickly knelt down to pull the gray pumps off Mrs. Pepperdine’s feet. “Mrs. Pepperdine, I need you to stand up now, okay?”

“Of course,” Mrs. Pepperdine croaked. The woman’s legs were quaking as Pamela drew down those gray-brown slacks. Her control top panti hose and jewelery were all the woman wore now, and Pamela was well aware of Lucy’s impatience as she struggled pulling the tight nylon hose down.

A shopper came around the corner. It was Mrs. Asporan who Mrs. Pepperdine sometimes chatted with when she came in. But this was thursday, and Mrs. Asporan rarely came in on Tursday. The woman stood much taller than either Pamela or Mrs. Pepperdine with her dirty blonde hair, excessive jewelery and overdone makeup. Pamela always found the woman to be overly picky with whatever vegetables were on display as well as her opinions of other people. Whenever Mrs. Pepperdine and she parted, Mrs. Asporan would make snide comments about the poor woman such as denigrating her selection of husband.

“Helen?” called Mrs. Asporan incredulously. “Is that you? I had no idea your number had come up.”

Mrs. Pepperdine, standing only in her control top panti hose lost what colour she had and swayed as if she would collapse again.

“Oh,” said Mrs. Pepperdine with remarkable steadiness in her voice. “Hello Janice. How is Henry?”

“Henry’s Henry,” said Mrs. Asporan. “So you’re going to be part of tomorrow morning’s meat selection? That’s very fortunate! My son James has been asking for a nice fillet. Might I get a look at the product? ”

“I thought the store was closed,” whispered Mrs. Pepperdine.

“So did I,” said Pamela not at all trying to hide her annoyance. “Mrs. Asporan,” she said. “I’m sorry, but Mr. Valencha is closing up the store and trying to get himself home.”

“Yes, Pamela, I know. He’s already gone. You’ll be a good girl and check me out when I’m ready to leave, won’t you?”

“Uh…” Pamela thought fast. There was no use in pretending she was not a qualified checker. When she arrived in Elko in early August that was the job she had. Taking Mrs. Asporan’s debit card would nor require her to dig out a cash drawer. There was no doubt in Pamela’s mind Mrs. Asporan had timed her arrival so that she could humiliate Mrs. Pepperdine.

“What’s the holdup?” Lucy came back. “Oh! Mrs. Asporan. I didn’t know you were still here. Didn’t Mr. Valencha close up?” she said facing Pamela.

“Yes,” Pamela replied. “He did.”

“Oh, I just needed to finish up,” said Mrs. Asporan. “It’s alright. I’ve stayed past closing before.”

“Yes, I know, Mrs. Asporan,” said Lucy. “But I’m sorry, I can’t let you stay. I’ll let you out.”

“But I have to purchase a fillet for my son, and you have none out for me to look at.”

“And none will be out before tomorrow monring,” said Lucy. “You’ll have to come back.”

The tall woman glared at Lucy for a moment. “Very well,” Mrs. Asporan snorted. “If Pamela would be so kind as to check me out, I’ll come back when you open.”

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Asporan, Pamela is busy helping me. You’ll just have to do your shopping tomorrow,” said Lucy, sternly.

“Well! I never! Mr. Valencha will hear about your rudeness, young lady!”

“I’m sure he will, Mrs. Asporan. I’ll give you his home phone number if you like. Which Mr. Valencha would you like to talk to?”

“I have all their numbers. You can rest assured I will have words with them all about this!”

“Yes, ma’am,” Lucy said. “If you’ll follow me, I’ll let you out. Here, Pam. For the panti hose…” Lucy thrust an old gutting knife into Pamela’s hand, who looked at it with horror. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

Pamela watched them leave for a scant moment till they were out of sight before turning back to Mrs. Pepperdine. When she again saw the woman, she was breathing as if winded, obviously relieved. Pamela bent down and took the wasteband of the control top pantihose and slid the hawk billed gutting knife under it, the razor shap steel easily parting the fabric and exposing the skin beneath. Mrs. Pepperdine gasped as the hose came away down her right leg. It was more difficult removing the left leg as the fabric was now loose at the waist, but not too difficult. When Pamela pulled it away, Mrs. Pepperdine’s fillet was revealed to be smooth as a newly depilated pubescent teenager. It was a pretty fillet, to Pamela’s eyes, with swolen lips parting her plump cleft and exposing Mrs. Pepperdines arousal. Her belly was not pudgy but had a womanly roundness to it that was sexier to Pamela’s eyes than she might have expected.

Pamela thought of herself as very heterosexual, but Mrs. Pepperdine’s womanly vulnerabilty was having its affect on Pamela in an uncomfortable fashion. She was quite glad Lucy would take over as soon as she returned and Pamela could make her escape to do whatever needed done, Pamela would find something…

“Okay,” Lucy said as she returned. “What a bitch that woman is! Part of me hopes her number’s coming up soon and I get to do her, and part of me hopes I don’t ever have to see her again…”

“I know what you mean,” Pamela said. “Anyway… Mrs. Pepperdine, I really will miss you…”

“Thank you,” Mrs. Pepperdine said in a small voice. But when Pamela turned to leave, the woman sobbed.

“Mrs. Pepperdine,” said Lucy, to Pamela’s horror. “Would you like Pamela to help get you cleaned up?”

Pamela turned just in time to see Mrs. Peppedine nodding silently. Oh God! She knew what that meant! She’d seen enough Mothers helping their daughters and daughters helping their mothers get cleaned up! Lucy did it every time she came to work before she put on her butcher’s outfit…

“Pam,” Lucy said with an authority based on Pamela’s contractural obligation. “Get undressed and bring Mrs. Pepperdine in soon as you’re naked.”

Great! In all the time she’d worked here at Valencha’s this was the first time she’d ever heard of any employee having to strip off for a cull’s comfort. At least the store was closed, and, thank God Mrs. Asporan was gone… the last thing Pamela needed was to have to strip off in front of that woman!

Pamela doffed the green polyester dress she wore over a sports bra and simple cotton panties. The panties she removed first to reveal her neatly trimmed red pubic hair. Pulling the sports bra off to reveal her c-cup breasts with their stiff nipples. Pamela’s nakedness suddenly made her feel as vulnerable as Mrs. Pepperdine looked. Pamela’s own hands shook as she dutifully put her hands on Mrs. Pepperdine’s shoulders and began to guide her into the butcher’s bay.

“My, Pamela,” Mrs. Pepperdine said. “I’m the one being butchered but you’d think it was you the way you’re shaking…”

Pamela snorted a laugh at that. “I’ll be runing around almost naked next week,” she told Mrs. Pepperdine, and explained the circumstances resuliting from her demerits.

“Oh! My, oh my! It seems someone wants to put you on the menue! At least you’ll have the honour of being a live roaster! I’ll just be cuts of meat…”

“Fine cuts,” Lucy said at the entrance to the shower. In her haned she held a bowl of wax and a handful of cloth strips.

“I’m already depilated, Lucy,” said Mrs. Pepperdine.

“They’re not for you,” said Lucy. “They’re for Pam.”

“Me?”

“Yes! Can’t have pubic hair in here. It’s the law.”

“That makes no sense!” Pamela said. “You’re in here all day with your hair uncovered!”

“Doesn’t matter,” Lucy said. “The law is the law… bend over…”

“Bend over?”

“Yeah, I’m doing your back end first…”

Pamela stood, mouth agape for a moment. Lucy was far too into this! Did she conspire with Mrs. Pepperdine? No… she could not have… there was no time… they were never together. But Pamela did as she was told when Lucy took a firm stance and pointed to the tile bench and slowly bent over, spreading her legs as Lucy patted her inner things, leaving her rear end open and exposed. The humiliation stung just as much as the hot wax Lucy smeared between her cheeks. Exposing one’s self was one of the ultimate taboos back in Pamela’s hometown in Connecticut and all up and down the Eastern Seaboard.

“So,” Lucy said as she spread the hot wax between Pamela’s buns… that caused Pamela to flinch. “Mrs. Pepperdine, why isn’t your daughter here?”

“Oh,” said Mrs. Pepperdine. “I could never undress in front of my children.”

“Oh,” said Lucy. “I get that. My Mom was exactly the opposite. When she was at home, we’d all parade around naked all the time. She made sure we were never ashamed of our bodies…”

“Oh, I’m not ashamed of my body…” Mrs. Pepperdine said. “I’m just ashamed of being naked.”

“Ow!” Pamela squeeled as Lucy ripped away the short, course hair that once grew between her buns. Several more rips followed before Lucy had her sit with her legs spread wide.

“It’s such a pity Mrs. Asporan could not admire your fillet, Pamela,” said Mrs. Pepperdine. “It looks truly succulent.”

“Yes it does!” breathed Lucy as she cleaned away the hair, leaving the fair skin between Pamela’s legs pink. “Carving it would be a pleasure… but then, Mr. Anson will price yours at the top rate, Mrs. Pepperdine. If Mrs. Asporan arrives in time to get it, it won’t come cheap, that’s for sure.”

“Oh, thank you,” said Mrs. Pepperdine. “That is strangely comforting. Although, the notion of her idiot son dining on it is… distasteful.”

“I’m sure she won’t make it in time,” said Lucy with a big, hopeful smile on her pretty, freckled face. “Okay, time for me to get you two cleaned out.”

(to be continued)

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Lucy and Sean are, in fact, Samantha’s half brother and sister, though she doesn’t know that and neither do they… there’s sort of a history as to why that is…

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Thanks lens! I was in Elko twice when my grandfather was involved in a mining operation there, and it seemed to be an interesting place that’s sort of between places. Out of the way, yet not (as it’s on I80). Most of the action takes place on the campus, which does not exist, of course…